Undoing

In winter traffic, fog of midday

shoves toward our machines—snow eclipses

the mountainscapes

I drive toward, keeping time against

the urge to quit moving. I refuse to not

know how not to, wrestling

out loud to music, as hovering me—automatic

engine, watching miles of sky on the fall—loves such

undoing, secretly, adding fuel to

what undoes the ozone, the endless nothing

manifested as sinkholes under permafrost.

Refusal, indecision—an arctic

undoing of us, interrupting cascades—

icy existences. I cannot drive through.